


severe but so altruistic

by jk_rockin



Series: Lady Hargreeves Academy for Orphan Girls [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Corporal Punishment, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Spanking, Strapping, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jk_rockin/pseuds/jk_rockin
Summary: Miss Handler approached the door, and knocked three times. "Enter," came Miss Grace's voice, muffled by distance, and Miss Handler turned the handle and went in.In the silent shadows of the closet, Five stood, conflicted. Whatever it was the ladies were doing together, it was clearly private. Under normal circumstances, an activity being private would have only been an incentive to Five prying, but this felt… different, somehow. Perhaps the wisest course would be to wait a moment, and slip off to bed before she was missed.Easing open the closet door, Five crept back to the door of Miss Grace's study.-Being Part the Fourth of a Serial Tale of the Student Inhabitants of Lady Hargreeves' Academy for Orphan Girls, Their Lives, and Their Exploits.
Relationships: Grace Hargreeves/The Handler, Number Five | The Boy/Diego Hargreeves
Series: Lady Hargreeves Academy for Orphan Girls [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1498967
Comments: 14
Kudos: 32





	severe but so altruistic

**Author's Note:**

> More nonsense from Lady Hargreeves' Academy! This time with TWO pairings, and the distinction of putting out what I think is the first fic to use the Grace/Handler tag. Title, yet again, from Rasputina's 'Girl's School'.
> 
> I haven't tagged this as incest, because in this AU the kids don't consider themselves to be siblings, but sexy business does happen between characters who do consider themselves siblings in canon. If I haven't tagged for something and you wish I had, please drop a comment to let me know.
> 
> (yes, this is the artist formerly known as findyourfortunefalling.)

The floorboards made no sound under Five's careful footsteps. The house was old and the boards prone to creaking, but by now she knew where to place her feet, and she moved through the dark, silent corridors like a shadow.

She had chosen her hiding place wisely; Allison and Vanya had passed right by the doors of the hall closet where she had secreted herself without so much as a glance in its direction. Five had personally oiled the hinges on every suitable cupboard, closet and washroom in the house, so she always had somewhere private she could slip off to, or a discreet vantage point from which to observe events unfolding.

There had been plenty to observe of late. Everyone seemed to be running around after hours, some more conscientiously than others, and behaving in very odd ways. She had never known her classmates to be so reckless and inclined to misbehaviour before, but something had changed, and now it was rare for a week to pass without some girl earning herself a punishment. It was very perplexing, and Five did not care to be perplexed. She would solve this puzzle, as she solved others, with rigorous study. She was good at puzzles.

Allison and Vanya were both fairly regular visitors to Miss Grace's study nowadays. Sometimes separately, but usually together, and always at night. The pattern was consistent. One, or both, would transgress in some minor way, spilling an ink bottle or neglecting an exercise, and Miss Grace would order them to her office that night. Sometimes this took place before others; more usually, when they were, or thought they were, alone. On a few occasions, no wrongdoing had occurred at all, but Miss Grace had merely drawn them aside and said, in a low voice, "You will come to my office after dinner," and both had acquiesced without complaint.

After dinner, they would report to the study. They would knock softly, be admitted, and close the door behind them. Sounds would come from behind that door- loud sounds, like the slap of a hand hitting flesh or the swish and crack of a cane, and soft sounds, as of rustling fabric, and now and then of someone crying. Then the sounds would cease, and a little while later, the girls would reappear, rumpled and tired, and would go off to bed. What puzzled Five was that they never seemed unhappy about this arrangement. What kind of punishment would one be happy to receive?

Miss Grace's behaviour, too, was curious. Five had only stayed after the girls left once, but that had been odd. She had intended to go, when further rustling sounds, low and indistinct, had caught her attention. When Five peered through the keyhole, she could not see beyond Miss Grace's desk, the fireplace, and some of the bookshelves. She knew there was an alcove off to one side in which a loveseat was placed, which was not immediately visible from the door, and it was there that she suspected Miss Grace had retreated. It had been maddening, to stand pressed against that door and hear sounds she could not interpret, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of things she could not see.

Having waited until after Allison and Vanya had gone upstairs to the dormitory to emerge from her hiding place, Five now stood against that very door, eye to the keyhole. Miss Grace stood behind her desk, stretching up to hang the disciplinary cane in its place on the wall. She turned- Five very carefully did not flinch or retreat, confident that she could not be seen from inside the room- and then, of all things, began to unbutton her dress. Her fingers worked deliberately, unhurriedly, until her bodice was undone, and she drew the sleeves off her arms, allowing the dress to slip down her body until she could step out of it. Picking it up, she shook it out, and hung it over the back of her desk chair. Standing now in her underthings, Miss Grace removed her shoes, and began to unlace her corset.

It seemed indecent to watch someone disrobe, but also strangely compelling, and it was this compulsion that kept Five's eye to the keyhole as Miss Grace unhooked the eyes of her corset's busk, folded it neatly in half, and laid it on her desk. Five watched, still as a statue, as Miss Grace stepped out of her petticoat and her drawers, rolled down her stockings, and removed her chemise, leaving her stark naked in the middle of her study.

This was most definitely indecent. Five swallowed, hard, as Miss Grace, who seemed to move differently when barefoot and nude, crossed to the mirror over the fireplace, and checked that her hair was in place. She rearranged a few strands, gave her cheeks a few pinches to bring the colour up, and sank to her knees before her desk, facing the door. She placed her hands palm- up on her thighs, settled back on her heels, and stayed there, back straight, eyes lowered.

If watching Miss Grace undress had been compelling, watching her wait, kneeling, was doubly so. She did not seem at all impatient for whatever it was she awaited; the only movement was the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

Little details caught Five's attention. She had not, she did not think, seen another person fully nude since bathtimes as a small girl, and the creamy, pale expanse of flesh now before her was almost hypnotising. Miss Grace looked smaller like this, and more vulnerable. Her nipples were visibly pebbled in the cool evening air, and the thin, pink lines left by her corset stays only served to render the unrestrained curves and dips of her body more intriguing to the eye. Five wished she were in the room, so she could observe this spectacle from different angles.

Somewhere behind her, footfalls reached Five's ears. Longer, more confident steps than Allison's or Vanya's; the click of heeled boots on floorboards. Another teacher. Starting back from the door, Five ducked across the corridor and slipped into the still-open hall closet where she had hidden earlier. She peered out the slats which made up the door, and saw the glow of a candle bobbing towards her, growing in brightness as it neared her hiding place. As the light drew closer, Five saw who it was- Miss Handler, as immaculate as ever in her black silk dress. Miss Handler passed Five's closet, clearly en route to Miss Grace's study. Five wanted to call out, to warn Miss Grace that someone was coming, but she kept silent, and watched.

Miss Handler approached the door, and knocked three times. "Enter," came Miss Grace's voice, muffled by distance, and Miss Handler turned the handle and went in.

In the silent shadows of the closet, Five stood, conflicted. Whatever it was the ladies were doing together, it was clearly private. Under normal circumstances, an activity being private would have only been an incentive to Five prying, but this felt… different, somehow. Perhaps the wisest course would be to wait a moment, and slip off to bed before she was missed.

Easing open the closet door, Five crept back to the door of Miss Grace's study.

The keyhole did not afford the best view of the room, but Five could quite clearly see Miss Grace, still on her knees, and Miss Handler’s back, where she stood over the kneeling headmistress. She had blown out her candle and placed it on the desk, and held in her hand a flat object, perhaps a foot and a half long, fashioned from brown leather. Miss Handler turned, and Five saw that it was the leather strap Miss Patch kept at her desk, or one very like it.

"What a pity we have to keep doing this," said Miss Handler. Her voice was playful, but with that edge of steel usually reserved for misbehaving students. To hear it directed towards another teacher was, in itself, astonishing, but that astonishment was nothing to that of the words that followed. "But naughty girls must be corrected, and you've been a naughty girl, haven't you, Grace?"

"Yes, ma'am," Miss Grace said. "I have been bad, and deserve punishment."

"First, you must tell me your misdeeds," said Miss Handler. She had begun to circle Miss Grace, very slowly, dangling the strap from one finger by the hanging loop at the end. Miss Grace kept her eyes respectfully lowered. "Then I, not you, will decide what you deserve."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am," said Miss Grace.

"Go on, then," said Miss Handler.

Miss Grace swallowed visibly. "I have encouraged the wickedness of my pupils to feed my own perversity," she said, with evident hesitance. "I have indulged in degenerate and unnecessary use of discipline, and afterward I have abused myself to the memory of those evil acts, and to thoughts of the very debased acts I claimed to punish."

"Your little rendezvous with Allison and Vanya," said Miss Handler. Her tone was firm, but she smirked as she said it. "They'll be quite an accomplished little pair of degenerates by the time you're done with them. Did you know I caught them _kissing_ last week?"

"No, ma'am." Perhaps it was Five's imagination, but a blush seemed to suffuse Miss Grace's cheek.

"Kissing," repeated Miss Handler. "In the woodshed, of all places- I believe they intended a more intimate assignation, from which my interruption dissuaded them. Your influence is clearly considerable."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said Miss Grace.

"You shall be," Miss Handler said. "Despite your presumption, I agree that punishment is in order."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you," said Miss Grace. To Five's surprise, she did in fact sound grateful- as though the prospect of punishment was a relief. Five had only very rarely been punished, but when she had been, relief had been very far from her mind, save when it was over.

"She trained you up well, didn't she," said Miss Handler with a laugh. "Let's hope your charges turn out half as polite. Rise, bend over, and hold your ankles."

Five's head spun. She wanted time to think about what she had heard. The scene before her seemed like the very world turned upside down. Miss Handler, usually so deferential to Miss Grace, towering above her with an instrument of punishment in her hand; Miss Grace kneeling in demonstrative and clearly willing submission. And all they had said of Allison and Vanya, sneaking off to kiss- it was like fireworks going off inside her head.

There was, however, no time for reflection, because Miss Grace was moving to do as Miss Handler had bid her. She rose, quite steadily, to her feet, and bent forward at the waist, gripping her own legs. Miss Handler stood, watching, as Miss Grace exposed herself, and made a noise of approval. She ran her hand over the curve of Miss Grace's lower back, and left it there, resting lightly. "There will be no need to count. I shall tell you when we're finished."

"Yes, ma'am," said Miss Grace, somewhat muffled by her hair, which hung down about her face.

"Eager little thing," murmured Miss Handler. She raised her arm, and brought the strap down against Miss Grace's upturned rump.

Five had never seen the strap in use. It hung at Miss Patch's desk- if, indeed, it was the same device- as a threat, but in the rare cases Miss Patch saw fit to punish a girl, she did so in private. Now she could barely keep her eyes off it as it swung through the air, coming down again and again on the softest parts of Miss Grace's unprotected flesh with deafening cracks. Miss Handler did not hurry; she beat every inch of Miss Grace's buttocks in steady, methodical rhythm, layering pink stripe upon pink stripe until the entire area fairly glowed with abuse.

Through it all, Miss Grace did not flinch, or make any move to escape. Keeping her knees slightly bent to maintain her balance, she swayed under Miss Handler's hand, letting out sounds which began as whimpers and increased to cries as the onslaught continued.

Surely it was impossible that Miss Grace could be _enjoying_ this. The heavy leather must have felt like a dozen slaps all at once; the bent-over position, exposing and pulling taut the skin of her rear, must have exacerbated the pain. Even besides how much it hurt- and Five was convinced it must hurt very much- the humiliation of such an experience must be extreme. Yet despite all of this, Five could not shake the feeling that she did in fact enjoy it. Perhaps it was a certain quality to her moans, or the manner in which her fingers tensed and relaxed their grip about her ankles; whatever it was, she remained convinced that Miss Grace delighted in every blow, and the idea of it set her blood fizzing in her veins.

She could not now deny that the sights before her affected her very powerfully. Her breath came more rapidly, and her face felt hot- indeed, she felt very hot all over- and where she had begun her vigil taking care to keep a distance from the door, she found that she had pressed herself against it, as though straining to be as close to the women on the other side of it as possible. She drew in a deep, shaky breath, and purposely moved back, trying to regain her composure.

There was no way of knowing how long it went on. It felt as though an eternity passed before Miss Handler stopped. With a surprisingly gentle hand, she assisted Miss Grace to kneel again. “Good girl,” said Miss Handler, in a voice much softer than her earlier sharpness. “Now kiss the strap, and give thanks.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Miss Grace. Her face was very red, and blotchy with tears, but there was such a look upon her as Five had never seen before- open, drowsy, and happy, almost to the point of bliss. She leaned forward, and kissed the strap tenderly when Miss Handler held it out to her.

“That’s better, isn’t it,” Miss Handler said. She laid the strap upon the desk, and put her hand to Miss Grace’s face, stroking her tousled hair back from her damp forehead. “All that trouble just melted away.”

Miss Grace did not respond in words, but made an inarticulate sound of pleasure. Where her kneeling posture had been rigid and straight-backed, she now slumped forward into the touch like an affectionate cat.

“You take a beating so beautifully,” Miss Handler continued. “You’ve always been a lovely subject, but the way you give yourself to it, now you’ve tasted giving it to another…” Her voice trailed off, and she smiled down at her indulgently.

“Thank you, ma’am. You’re very kind,” said Miss Grace. Her tone was so altered, she sounded almost drunk.

Miss Handler laughed. “Would you like to thank me properly?” she asked.

“Please,” said Miss Grace. Miss Handler's fingers tightened in her hair, a swift yank that pulled Miss Grace's head back. "Ah! Ma'am! Please, ma'am!"

"Better," Miss Handler purred. "Very well, Grace. You may."

Miss Grace nodded- as much as she could, at least, with her neck arched so awkwardly- and reached for the hem of Miss Handler's dress. Relaxing her grip, Miss Handler leaned back against the edge of the desk. Miss Grace raised the skirt and petticoat to the level of Miss Handler's hips, baring the tops of her stockings, and revealing that beneath her dress, Miss Handler wore no drawers.

Five stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to contain a whimper.

Crawling between Miss Handler’s spread legs, MIss Grace kissed the bare skin beside the tuft of surprisingly dark hair over her pubis. Miss Handler slid her hand into Miss Grace’s hair once again, and pushed Miss Grace’s face into her sex, letting out a murmur of pleasure.

A pulse, insistent and very new, made itself known between Five’s own legs. She had never given much thought to her own private parts, but this seemed a night for revelations, and whatever else Five might feel about what she had seen and heard, her body did not seem confused at all. She watched, fingers still in her mouth, as Miss Grace bent assiduously to her task. She could hear soft, wet sounds, and tiny moans, as though Miss Grace were eating something she found delicious.

Miss Handler sighed. She lifted one leg, and draped it over Miss Grace’s shoulder, drawing her even closer. In order to comply, Miss Grace had to kneel upwards, and in doing so exposed her bare bottom to Five’s view. Another bolt of heat shot through her as she stared, no longer able to keep herself from pressing against the door- the wide red welts patterning that white skin drew her eye, even over the activity going on above, stark evidence of all that she had previously seen.

How did it feel to be marked like that? Oh, it must hurt, it must hurt terribly, but what else? What was there in the nature of pain, so strictly and so formally administered, that had Miss Grace writhing under Miss Handler’s grip as though she, too, was being pleasured?

Her gaze flicked up, down, and up again, impatient to see all that she could through the finite window of the keyhole, as Miss Handler began to thrust her hips against Miss Grace’s mouth. Miss Handler’s face, too, was much transformed; all her sternness was gone, and her mouth opened unrestrainedly on soft gasps and cries. She undulated on the desk, moving with greater and greater rapidity, until she seemed to reach some sort of peak, her breath choking off and her knuckles whitening in Miss Grace’s hair.

The spasm went on for some moments. Evidently, it had been the goal of the exercise, as shortly afterwards Miss Handler drew Miss Grace's face from between her legs, and rearranged her dress about her. It was like watching a magic trick- besides a crease in her black silk and the high colour in her cheeks, one would never have known, to look at her, what she had been doing. Miss Grace, by comparison, was more disheveled than ever. Her face was wet with tears, and, perhaps, more than tears, and her hair was in complete disarray. She leaned against Miss Handler's skirts, turning again into her touch, which had now more a tender than a commanding air.

"What a darling thing you are," said Miss Handler. "Now, what do good girls say?"

"Thank you, ma'am," said Miss Grace again. For all that she had said it, and tonight Five had heard her say this phrase many times, the sincerity in her voice was not diminished. She sounded truly thankful. "I- ma'am?"

"Yes, dear?" asked Miss Handler.

"I wondered if I might come tonight," said Miss Grace, eyes still turned to the floor. The phrase seemed nonsensical to Five. Why would she wonder if she might come when she was already present?

Miss Handler hummed thoughtfully, still petting her. "No, I don't think so," she said. "You've been very good for me, my sweet, but you really have been dreadfully wicked lately, haven't you. Next time, perhaps. If you earn it."

Five could not quite see the look on Miss Grace's face- her hair was still in the way- but curiously enough, this refusal made her shut her eyes tight, and shudder. "Yes, ma'am," she said, voice thick.

"That's my girl," said Miss Handler. "Now, I think you had better sleep in my bed tonight. Gather up your things, but you needn't bother getting dressed- I trust the corridors will be empty at this time of night." As she said this last, she turned her face fully towards the door, looked directly at the keyhole, and winked.

Five started back so abruptly that she very nearly tripped over her own feet. With barely enough composure to be quiet about it, she all but ran down the corridor towards the dormitory.

She was out of breath by the time she arrived at her bed. All the others were asleep, save Klaus and Ben, who were not in their beds tonight, but in the whirl of thoughts currently occupying Five's attention, their absence hardly rated notice. She undressed, and put herself under the covers through mechanical force of habit. Even so, it took her quite some time to fall asleep.

The next day she woke later than usual, and stumbled through the morning in a haze of restless contemplation. She absorbed nothing from the day's lessons- she could not look at Miss Grace or Miss Handler without being overwhelmed with memories of how they had looked, sounded and behaved the night before, and without that same strange stirring feeling coming over her once more. If they had indeed known that she saw what they had done, neither of the ladies said anything to her, nor betrayed by deed or glance what had passed. At mealtimes, she ate, and said nothing. This was not remarked upon, as Five sometimes passed long periods without speaking unless it was necessary, as she rarely found anyone worth the trouble of talking to.

It being a fine afternoon, Miss Handler dismissed them early from their lessons. The girls dispersed to their preferred occupations, but Five found herself wandering the grounds, until she came to one of her favourite spots- a secluded seat, set amongst a copse of trees and covered with a climbing jasmine vine. Sitting upon the bench, she put her elbows on her knees and her chin upon her hands, and sank back into the mysteries that occupied her thoughts.

Miss Handler and Miss Grace were inverts; that seemed indisputable. They were inverts who indulged in strange rituals of corporal punishment, and Miss Grace had so far influenced Allison and Vanya as to inspire them, too, to inverse behaviour- _kissing in the woodshed_ , she thought, which set off another fizzing sensation in her stomach- and had apparently inducted them into these rituals as well.

She had wondered what it was that had made Vanya and Allison so close in such rapid fashion They did not have very much in common, or at least Five had not thought so, but it seemed there was much Five did not know. There had been a time when she and Vanya had been quite close, if only by virtue of being the quietest and most socially removed from the others, and that time, it seemed, had gone. Now Vanya was swept up in this new world which Five could not touch.

Or could she? It did not seem overly difficult to do, but who could she go to? She had no real wish to intrude on Vanya's connection with Allison, however that had formed, but had no other intimacies onto which she could fall back. It was not a folly in which she frequently indulged, but Five had begun to suspect that she might, in fact, be very lonely indeed.

As though summoned by Five's thoughts, a voice came over the breeze toward her. "Are you deep in thought, or merely moping?" asked Diego.

Five did not dignify this with a response.

“Moping, then,” said Diego, sitting down next to Five. “You had better unburden yourself- a problem shared is a problem halved. Miss Patch has a sampler that says so.”

“I am not in the habit of taking advice from embroidery samplers,” said Five peevishly.

“Perhaps you would not be alone in the grounds on a beautiful day if you did,” said Diego, bumping her shoulder against Five’s companionably. Under normal circumstances, this would pass with merely a glare from Five, but it was… pleasant, to feel the warmth of another’s body against hers. She leaned into the contact, just slightly, rather than pulling away. “Come now,” said Diego, more gently. “Something is clearly the matter. I might be able to help.”

Five cleared her throat, and looked away. The jasmine blossoms growing up the arch bobbed up and down in the breeze. After a long moment of silent contemplation, she said, not turning her head, “Why do you let Luther hit you?”

Diego started. She strove to hide it, but with her shoulder pressed against Five, even a small movement was obvious. “It isn’t like that,” she said, discomfited. “You make it sound like a Punch and Judy show. It’s different.”

“How is it different?” asked Five. A plaintive note had crept into her voice, which she cringed to hear.

Diego took her own moment of silence before she replied. “I don’t know that I can explain. Had you asked me a year ago if I would ever _want_ to be punished, and by Luther of all the girls in the world, I’d have laughed in your face. But I do want it, and she’s actually rather good at it,” she said ruefully. “Don’t tell anyone I said as much.”

Five suppressed a laugh. “I won’t,” she said, with as much solemnity as she could muster. “Is that it? She smacks your bottom, but she’s good at it?”

“It isn’t just the bottom-smacking,” said Diego. “That’s part of it, of course, but it’s… bigger than that. It’s more.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” asked Five.

“Oh, a bit,” said Diego, with an offhanded shrug which told Five that it must sometimes hurt a great deal. “There’s another side of the pain, though, which is… nice.”

“Nice,” said Five dryly. “I don’t know why I bothered asking you, Diego. You’ve all the descriptive ability of an infant’s picture book.”

“Well, I like that!” Diego exclaimed, turning to look at Five. “You come out with these questions as though my personal doings are any of your business, and then have the cheek to critique my answers.”

“One could hardly call them answers,” said Five. “‘She’s good at it, and it’s nice’- quite a ringing endorsement, if you were describing a trip to the seaside.”

Diego gave Five’s shoulder a sharp nudge, turning her around to look her in the eye. Her cutting look became a considering one as she searched Five’s face, not letting her look away. “If I spoke to Luther in this manner, I would catch a hiding I would not soon forget,” she said.

“Perhaps you might then have words to describe it,” said Five. She felt that strange stirring again, more urgently than she had when watching Miss Grace and Miss Handler. There was a quality to Diego’s eyes in the sunlight, a look of intent, that made her stomach twist with something a little like fear, and a lot like anticipation.

“I do not think I will need words to make myself understood,” said Diego. Her voice was very quiet, but far from soft. Five’s sarcastic answer died in her throat. Diego laid a hand atop hers, and squeezed her fingers gently. “Are you going to fight, or are you going to raise your skirts like a good girl?”

It was easy to picture fighting. She could imagine how she might kick and scratch, and how Diego, so much bigger and stronger than she was, might pin her to the ground and do as she liked to her. The idea of it made her face flush and her sex tingle, but then she thought of how Miss Grace had looked, kneeling in submission. She had made it look as though her willing surrender was, in itself, a joy. Five wanted very much to know how that felt.

Five rose to her feet. Her hands trembled as she bunched her dress in her hands, pulling it up her thighs. She had not intended to hesitate, but anticipation made her uncharacteristically clumsy, and it seemed an age before she had her skirts up around her hips. Diego’s gaze, an almost physical weight upon her, dragged from her exposed legs and drawers to her hot face in a long, slow wave. Five disliked being looked at and always had, but this was a different feeling again; exposure, yes, but intentional, willing, and all the more stirring for it.

“Over my knee, I think,” said Diego. She held out a hand. Five took it, and allowed Diego to arrange her over her lap. It helped to think of it that way- as Five allowing Diego liberties, rather than Diego taking them, though even Five could not now say how true it really was. Diego’s touch was gentle, but unyielding, as she slipped her fingers beneath the topmost edge of Five’s undergarments and tugged them down, baring Five’s backside to the air.

Diego did not bother with any preparatory caresses, or any further talk; she merely brought her open hand down on Five's bottom in a ringing slap that jolted Five forward on her lap, and then did it again, and again. She neither counted, nor asked Five to count. Her rhythm was steady but for occasional pauses and missed beats, so that Five could not get accustomed to it, but jumped at each arrhythmic strike.

It hurt. She had expected it to, had never, from the moment she raised her skirts entertained the notion that Diego would go easy with her, but the glow of heat building beneath her skin was bigger and more distracting than she had expected. It felt- well, as though a larger girl was beating her bottom red, was how it felt, and as though she were laying across that girl's lap and letting her do it. She had all but asked her to do it.

Her face was very hot. The afternoon breeze was cool against it, and cool also against the heated skin of her backside. She realised, in a distant sort of way, that she was making sounds- little mewling cries, not definitively of either pain nor pleasure, that slipped out of her mouth in time to Diego's blows- and had no idea when she had begun to do so.

"Was I supposed to count them out?" she said. It came out very slurred, as though she were just drifting off to sleep.

"Had I wanted you to count, I would have asked." Diego paused, flexing her hand. "Doing this is more taxing than I thought it would be," she said under her breath, and struck Five again, no less firmly than before.

Five could not account for how dreamy and odd she felt, as though she were floating just above her body. Not detached from sensation- Diego spanked with a gratifying vigour, and she could feel blows layering upon blows with excruciating clarity- but somehow disconnected from the world, as though everything beyond their little bower was far away and somehow unimportant.

After a time the pace of the smacks slowed, then stopped. Diego massaged her stinging cheeks, making Five writhe in her lap. "Had enough?"

Five made a blurry sound into the arm upon which her head was laid. The touch aggravated her sensitive skin, but she could not help but arch back into it. That throb was back between her legs, more insistent than ever, and the pain and the glow suffusing her body eased and increased it in equal measure.

"I will take that as proof that you have," said Diego, amused. "How did you like it, then?"

Was this ache how Miss Grace had felt? Five was not crying, but she thought she grasped the sense of why one might want to be beaten until one cried. Having her bottom thoroughly slapped had left her feeling tender inside as well as out, soft and somehow open in a way she did not associate with herself, and she wanted very badly to show it to Diego.

Rolling off Diego's lap, Five tumbled to the ground to land inelegantly on her knees. The grass prickled at her bare skin as she shuffled forward, getting her hands under Diego’s skirts and pushing them up her legs. “Five,” said Diego in great surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Thanking you properly,” said Five. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, and her fingers were clumsy on the ties of Diego’s underthings.

“Five,” said Diego again. “You seem... perhaps we ought to retire inside.”

“Do not patronise me,” said Five. Her hand found the warm spot between Diego’s legs; even through her drawers, she was hot and damp to the touch. Five shivered to feel it. “Let me. I want to.”

Diego shook her head, but it seemed from exasperation, not in denial, as she lifted her hips and allowed Five to drag her underwear down her legs to puddle between her feet. Five’s own drawers had fallen to encircle her knees, and she found the way they hindered her movement interesting, in a way she had better think on later.

Beneath Diego’s skirts, it was warm and quiet, the fabric muffling sound as well as light. She could not see what she was doing as well as she would like, but it was not difficult to find her goal. When her nose brushed the fine, curling hair of Diego's pubis, the two of them sighed in concert, and Diego canted her hips up to meet her questing mouth.

It took Five a few moments to get her bearings. Diego was wet, the rich, salt smell of her almost overwhelming in the confines of her dress, and her flesh was hot and slippery under Five's tongue. Everywhere Five licked her seemed to set off some new quiver in Diego's body, so that Five found herself lingering in the spots that garnered the most response. The most rewarding by far was the little nub of harder flesh towards the top of Diego's slit- when Five licked her there, she whimpered, and wriggled her hips as though unable to keep still.

She experimented with different methods; long licks with the flat of her tongue, swirls with the tip, open-mouthed kisses. It was absorbing, everything so new, and she could feel Diego's excitement growing in the little movements of her body. Diego was evidently trying to keep still, not thrusting against Five's face as Miss Handler had done to Miss Grace, and while it made Five's task more simple, it seemed almost an insult that her composure remained thus far intact.

As for Five's composure, it was a lost cause. Her face was slick from her nose to her chin, and only getting wetter as she went on. Beneath her own dress, heat built between her legs, spurred on by Diego's noises and the way her red, sore bottom rubbed deliciously against the heels of her shoes. Her head was cloudy with sensation. She wanted, very much, for Diego to reach that peak she had seen Miss Handler reach, and she wanted to feel every tremble and shiver of it through her tongue.

Diego moaned, hands bunching in the folds of her dress atop Five's shoulders. "I'm going to spend in your mouth," she said, sounding as breathless and overwhelmed as Five felt herself. The words spurred Five on, and she lavished that pearl of flesh that seemed the key to Diego's pleasure with long kisses and licks until Diego did, at last, cry out, and push her sex hard against Five's face in a series of stuttering jerks that mashed Five's nose against her mound.

When it was over, Five laid her head upon Diego's thigh, panting. The world outside the pure fog of sensation in which she had felt herself enveloped was beginning to creep back in, and her buttocks stung dreadfully. Diego, chest still heaving, flipped up her skirts to expose Five to the air. She felt the breeze on her dripping face, and blushed all over, imagining the picture she must make.

"Where on earth did that come from?" said Diego, happily incredulous.

"Careful observation is the key to knowledge," said Five. Her tone was not as superior as it might otherwise have been, but she felt too good to care very much, and dropped another kiss on Diego's thigh.

Laughing a little, Diego put her hand to Five's chest, and pushed her until she tipped backward, her legs folded awkwardly beneath her. She launched forward onto her knees, and yanked Five flat onto her back, slinging a leg over her until she sat astride her. Their dresses were still rucked up about their thighs, and the bare skin of their legs pressed and rubbed together.

Before Five could protest. Diego smiled down at her, and leaned down to kiss her on the mouth. Five, having never kissed anyone before, allowed herself to be led, and let Diego open her lips and kiss her deeply, shivering at the taste of Diego's spending on Diego's own tongue.

"Luther is very fond of my mouth," Diego said, almost a confession, in Five's ear. "Shall I, here? Or do you want my fingers?"

"Don't," Five blurted, before she knew what she was saying. In her mind's eye, she could see the look on Miss Grace's face when Miss Handler told her she could not come. It had not made sense to Five then, but it did now.

Diego looked at her quizzically. "Am I not to lick you, or not to use my hand upon you?"

Five shut her eyes tight. "Don't let me come," she said. "I want… I want you to make me earn it."

Diego went quiet above her. When Five mustered the courage to pry open her eyes, Diego was looking at her with an odd expression, but she did not look displeased. "I may need assistance with that," said Diego slowly. "I am a neophyte in the arts of administering discipline to girls, and would have to consult with Luther upon the subject."

An argumentative barb blossomed at the tip of Five's tongue- since what time had Diego admitted Luther to be her superior in anything?- but that odd expression held her silent. She could see, though at a remove, the intricacies of how this game was played unfolding before her, and nodded slowly, holding Diego's gaze.

Diego sat back on her heels, and from there stood up, pulling up her drawers as she went. She shook out her skirts, and offered a hand to Five, who took it, and allowed herself to be drawn up.


End file.
